


Starshot! Prime

by XXXAMBASSADOR



Series: Starshot! [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2018-12-29 22:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12094791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XXXAMBASSADOR/pseuds/XXXAMBASSADOR
Summary: Charlotte, a young girl with the world ahead of her, doesn't know her place in the world, and goes to find it in Nevada.Aashiq, pilot of the Aleph Null, a renovated cruise ship meant for "...Beyond the stars travel! ...An experience of your lifetime!" spending her golden days cataloguing alien species and too many ghosts to keep quiet at night, searches the cosmos for a way home.Herdesher, head over heels in unrequition, wants one thing in his life: a family.These three are pulled together in more ways than one, forced to understand the worlds around them without their consent. Their adventure will pull them together, tear them apart, and stitch back together what remains.A time traveling band of pseudo human sharks with a disdain for humanity, underground spy groups on Venus, a beautiful culture built from the ground up on Mars, the past bringing itself back to the spotlight, and one woman responsible for the whole thing.Welcome to Starshot! Prime





	1. Jobe

The room around their conversation has aged horribly, high walls and a ceiling that hugged the sky above, it's crumbling stone bleeding through with starlight, the far off guests illuminating the room with a humble glow. 

She felt without a body, drifting around their shared room, feeling as though she were the very smoke whisping from each long incensce stick lit with thick abandon; the weeds pushing themselves from between cracks in the stone floor; the high walls casting their gaze to the only body to ever exist here.

The church was slowly overtaken by the earth long forgotten, moss growing and climbing about the pews like children crawling and jumping over each wooden seat, unsupervised and eager to stretch their legs after Mass.  
Wine spills that soaked into the grass stained this perfect balance of man and nature, the jug to hold the blood of Christ thrown and shattered against the ground not too long ago, along with many others.

And, as soon as it was destroyed another took it's place on the pedistal, pristine and filled to the brim; An offering of peace, whispered in an embrace from behind, nose tucked in the crook of a neck and perfume stinking and sharp.

Grass stems pulled apart the carefully laid stone tiles below foot, soil brushed over each section of the grounds. And, as soon as the black dirt touched his seat her guest brushed it away with long, worn fingers dirtied black with soot, his nails glowing gold and silver in the starlight. 

He couldnt remember the last time he had nails, ones that weren't heavy at his fingertips, pulling him towards the ground whenever his arms went lax at his sides. They were made for him, another offering, something that made him unique and beautiful, that separated him further from the rest of absent humanity.

She watched him walk the room, taking his time to continue their talk as she would like. But, for him, he wished to start anew as if he knew that, finally, the world was listening too.  
His footfall was heavy, grounding and real, fingers tickling the straws that reached up for him, begged to touch him; To know him; To love him.

As he tipped his head up, hair long and curling, he smiled. Another was entering to listen to their talk, it's body of fire offering light and warmth to his face, a ray of sunshine cast into his little world.  
He watched the sky change from dark and riddled with pinpricks of light to lavender and orange, the sun patient and slow to cross the sky today.  
She wanted to impress him, this abstract visitor, to offer him a taste of what she could do, what gift she could give him as she gave to the rest of this insignificant, blue marble.

And, he accepted it. His arms splayed out, chest bare to relish in what he knew as the one thing God actually gave him, not this liar, this tyrant that kept him here without rhyme or reason.

He knew the world grew older another day, then another.  
A day passes, a week, a fortnight, a month, a year. 

It never ended. 

He was placed beyond time, beyond the guidance of the universe, one that gave up on him and moved at its chronic pace. 

Stars grew and expanded and fell upon themselves, congregating into new beings that warmed worlds made of their previous incarnations bodies. They became new chances, new life, and soon another earth was made, its star pushing the odds and growing and nurturing something amazing; something strong and beautiful, of it's soil and water.

Yet all the same earth was boiled away, ripped apart and forgotten, lost to the ever expanding reality anything created with a hint of sentience faces: life and death feud over their consciousness, love and birth cradling their hearts, whispering sweet nothings into lonely nights, peace and war threatening their own revenge upon each other for faults of man.

Time feared touching him, a vagabond to existence, the endless march unwelcome to his pace, and any attempt he made to join their parade met an awkward cough and a fearful, downcast glance.  
It wasnt the denial that horrified him the first time, but what came after.

That familiar grip pulled him backwards, traced his jawline, ran long manicured fingers through his dark hair, and pressed lips to the side of his head. She whispered promises into his ear, offered him comfort and reward for his patience, slowly tugging him backwards like a young lover with fingers entwined in his heartstrings.

It was the first time he denied her that set the stage. He ripped himself away, stumbled forward, and groveled at the feet of death, hands tightened in the cloth of the reapers cloak, acting like a child begging their parent not to leave them at their first day of school.  
He repeated himself over and over, begging for the end of it all, to see his friends, his family in a world he never knew he believed in; A world past this one, of rest and eternity faced with familiar faces. 

The realization struck him like a bullet when even death wouldn't give him the satisfaction, when he was ripped from the cloth of the end, dragged backwards with nails in his back and hair pulled taut.  
And, as he cried out, screaming for death to take him, the embodiment turned it's back and called the march to go on, to ignore and follow the first to perish. 

It took too long, in his opinion, to click, to realize, that he wasn't denied by a hating and selective emissary, but there was nothing they could do when another God smashed the clock that ticked away to the end of his life.

He understood now, after so long of being alone, of waiting for what he didn't understand would never come. His screams of protest, frustrated tears and the skin on his knuckles cracked and bleeding were recorded in the cracks in the walls and tiles. His anger made the world afraid of him, the grass dying all around him once and the sun refusing to share her warmth with him.  
He was used to cold nights until the suns fingertips kissed the sky hesitantly, spreading her warmth to try and comfort the released aggression and the balded grass was reborn into patches of white flowers, small and fragile, wherever he stepped. 

When he next cried, it filled his church, the ground flooded and more alive than ever before. Waterskippers danced the surface of the fresh water and small fish were born spontaneously, emerging from between the tiles and enjoying the life they were given.  
The water warmed with endless days, and for a time he found peace in his little world. It rose and sunk some days, leaving him floating on the surface or diving into an endless abyss, the grass growing longer and more vibrant greens. He found peace here, wading between the pews and feeling the spongy moss with his black fingertips.  
His happiness lasted not, the water lowering slowly and grass stalks receding. Soon, it was a dried floor and his mind was left to wander once again. He let his hair go from it's bun, splaying over his shoulders and his head tipped back. The moss had lurched slowly from the seats to the rest of the ground, offering a cool, comfortable play to lay. 

He refused.

The prisoner left himself to the hard ground, the tiles jutting up in awkward angles that poked and prodded his back. It was annoying, uncomfortable, but he wouldn't accept another gift from his captor until he heard why she has kept him for so long. 

When she first described this place, it was Eden: Fruitful and without suffering; The perfect world, paradise.  
She couldn't have been farther from the truth, a far as he felt. To him, an Eden was Hell, the opposite extreme to where he begged to go so long ago. He could never die, never age, never eat nor drink. He could never feel the touch of another person in passion, only the fingertips that tease him, left him floating in a limbo he could never escape from.  
He didn't have the energy to hate anymore, nor love. It was all outside the spectrum, the spheres of commonplace emotion were foreign to him. 

This is where he found himself now, strolling and taking his time to talk with her again. If she was going to play this game, he would reciprocate with his own unabashed patience.  
His skin soaked up as much sunlight as it could from where the sun beames through the hole in the ceiling, his arms splayed out and accepting this celestial gift, bringing a soft smile to his face. This was one of the things he could still enjoy, still feel after all this time.

She sat among the pews now, dressed elegantly, out of place to the extreme with her clothing choice: A long, hugging dress, shining silver and reflecting prisms of rainbows when the sun offered her gift to the hostess.

"I miss your smile." Her voice was lovely, just as it was in his ear, pulling him back every time he even thought of doubting her. "It was the first thing about you I loved. Can't you smile for me?"

"I've been here for so long." He breathed out after another moment, his voice deep and gravelled, contrasting so heavily with hers it was a surprise to him still.

"You stopped wearing your jacket. Is it too warm?" She was quick to change the subject, and just as the words left her mouth, the room cooled and goosebumps rose acrossed his skin. 

He shivered visibly.

"No, I don't need it." His voice was quieter now, underlying with a beg to stop. Nothing needed to change, not while she was here.

"Put it on." 

"Please.." He let his eyes close, trying to feel the sunlight again, but clouds passed overhead, blocking the beautiful treasure that was warmth. The Sun was offended, this standoffish visitor, and turned away from him as well, travelling across the sky and allowing her muted sister to stare in awe in her stead. 

It was too late. The Hostess won already, no matter how he looked at it. When she was here, her word was absolute.

He went to fetch the jacket, laid languidly across his seat, one that stood empty and patient for him to finally rest upon. It was carved from the trees that offered no shade, textured yet smooth to the touch. He could see words engraved in the arm rests, long and scripted, a language long forgotten he could guess, swallowed up in waves of time.

Or one that never existed in the first place.

"And your guitar. I want to hear you play." Her tone was strict, parental, definitive. There wasn't any use denying her what she wanted.

He swallowed, hard. The jacket was pulled on, warming him in a way that almost felt artificial. It wasn't an outside embrace like sunlight, giving him something without asking for anything in return.  
He already missed it.

"Your guitar, Jobe." She was standing now, picking at a sprout that dared to emerge atop one of the curving pew seats in unnatural rows.  
It was plucked quickly, torn apart slowly, the green staining her fingers and bringing a distasteful grimace to her otherwise perfect face.

"I said I want to hear you play."

Her words felt empty, hollow and reverberating off each other like a deep cliff, bouncing and pushing back until it lost so much of itself it hadn't a choice but to fade away.  
She always stayed out of arms reach, instead guiding his gaze to the instrument he battered against the ground hours ago, meeting the same fate as the wine pitcher. Its wood split in all directions, strings limp and hanging from the part of the neck that was still attached, the other part across the room in a final fit of unabashed rage. 

He looked down slowly, his heavy lids not holding an ounce of apology as he stared over his work. The hollow piece he once could say he loved was coming apart, the body split like an open door, the sound hole an unblinking eye as it met the tile floor while the rest of itself was carved by motion. If he could, he would smile, and look up with a fire in his eyes lost to millennias. 

Now, he just looked like a tired child, his body thin and fingers picking at the false nails. They never felt real, and he never allowed himself to accustom to the new part of himself. 

The gift of a monster.

"I guess-" She sighed, letting her body lay dramatically on a pew, her pout evident yet pulling no reaction from whom she called Jobe.  
"Well, I guess you're going to have to just sing. What a shame, your fingers were another of the first things I fell in love with."

Love. There that word was again.

This wasn't love.

"Come on, Jobe. Sing for me, my darling."

His hands balled into fists, the metal at his fingertips cold and numb.  
He knew what she was going to say, what she would remind him of, how she helped him, gave him everything he wanted.

The Hostess smiled, teeth straight and white without a flaw, her nails gliding over the wooden seat, the nature grown over retreating to avoid her poisonous touch. She was humming when he refused to meet her sharp gaze, his nails digging further into soft flesh and teeth gritting. It was a tune he recalled immediately, remembering the hours practiced in his yellowing apartment walls as he belted for his life, each time leaving him breathless and unsatisfied.

"My angel of music." 

There were so many picks at him in just that sentence, so many sudden reactions in his head, memories evoked, it almost overwhelmed him.

'My name isn't Jobe.' He wanted to shout first, to scream at her, to grab that perfect neck and twist it until she looked like his guitar. 

Mangled. 

Then he could remember very well what she did for him the night his dreams were fufilled, the scene in his head playing on film.  
It was so stupid now, his obsession with singing, with being the best and having the world see it that way, see him for the star he was meant to be yet his voice denied with a firm stance.  
It felt like forever ago, and then like it happened only hours ago.

His heart hurt, crawled up his throat and nestled deep while his stomach dragged itself up to join his first personified organ, Jobe remembering the excitement, how he felt upon that stage, belting out his soul with a voice challenged by nobody. It was more alive than he's ever felt, bringing tears to his eyes at a standing ovation.

Then another night, another song, another performance that pulled people to stand before he was even finished and scream for him, clapping sporadically and calling for an encore.  
And every night ended with her in his head, holding him from behind while he held his hands up to soak in the praise, and congratulating him, talking how proud she was, all of her Jobe.

And then it fell apart, just as it always did.

Jobe turned his gaze onto her, light and empty, his shoulders hunching forward and eyes holding all the age his body wasn't allowed to show.

She knew, he knew, they both understood what would happen next. He climbed the thick, tall steps that wore not an inch despite grass and dirt having it's way with the rest of the ground. They were still white and smooth, carved from marble and pearly in the moonlight, still cold to the touch and uncracked, his shoes tapping audibly when he ascended the few feet up. 

Turning on his hand, he sat abruptly at the top of the steps, only a pace or two away from his throne that loomed overhead, staring him down relentlessly. It called to him, pulled at his very being to come and sit, to finish his ordeal and become what his host offered countless times over once it became clear what he was meant to do for her in return.

And he refused, again, for now.

A song began, no vocals nor a rhythm impressed. He brought his lips together and sang a note, tipping his chin upward until his neck was caressed with moonlight, his dark hair hanging in small curls.  
He let that single note hang in the air a moment, repeating it a few times until he caught the right letter, and imbedded in the sound was whistling; his voice split and told two different stories.

Smoke filled the room, the incense turned to tall candles that lit the room warmer than the sattelite guest. They clung to the walls with this drops of hot wax, dragging slowly down the walls while their thick wicks punished the darkness. 

He was once impressed with his hostesses ability to change what he saw, what he was supposed to feel, but when he was no longer amused with her performance, deaf to her song and numb to her touch, he didn't care nor couldn't if the world around him collapsed. 

Humans need to die, just as new ones must be born. Nothing in life has a reason to exist, to be born and bred, and nothing needs to persist after their expiration date. 

Jobe closed his eyes, wishing he knew what it meant to not know anything, to not exist, and for a moment he did. 

He tasted it, the black ink of nothing, the thick sea of death, and always he was pulled back.

Just because she could. He couldn't compete with her power, her hold over him. He was hers, body mind and soul, and he hated it.


	2. Null

It was when the ship accepted the first transmission that Charlotte felt the weight in her heart.

She could physically feel her heart crawl and nestle in her throat, her fingertips going numb as that familiar code was read out with the Water Bears cold voice. 

INCOMING EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION A-L-E-P-H_N-U-L-L SERIAL CODE NUMBER..

She tried to stop listening to the long set of numbers that followed, but each time they grated into her, reverberating in her skull and making her want to cry. 

It was direct, set as an emergency signal, so she couldn't deny the message as the familiar voice spoke from the front speakers. Herdesher was always the smart one, knowing how to skim the lines and find loopholes in anything, including all Charlotte's attempts to block them out.

It wasn't Herdesher with his deep, booming voice that came through, though, as she thought. Someone who could make her see the other side of the coin, understand and think like he was.

"Hey, kid." 

She froze, staring wide eyed at the rubbled, soft voice that rose octaves when he shouted, that reduced to a raspy whisper when she was scared, that relaxed her and reminded her that she was never alone, even on her worst nights; when she was so deep in her head that nothing else could draw her back out.

His voice shook, Charlotte picking out that he was trying to stay calm. Well, trying and failing. Aashiq could never mask his emotions well. 

"I'm not mad. I don't think I could be mad at you, ever."

She gripped the joysticks tighter. 

He took a deep breath before continuing, shifting in his seat from what she could pick up in transmission. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Please, don't do what you're thinking."

The cabin felt empty, thin, weightless on her consciousness. Everything in her being was focused on his voice. Her fingers turned pale from the grip, her palms tingling.

"Just, come back and we can talk, okay? I went down the exact same road you are right now, and it won't end well." The audio got worse by the second, Charlotte listening as his voice grew fainter, covered thick with static. "We-... Don't do it-... I love-... We're a fam-..." 

His speech cut out with a deafening hiss, silence filling the ship until another familar voice rang through, though this one was distant, strict and demanding her attention.

"You're going to lose your chance! Stay focused." Another male snapped in the speakers, a prompt catching her attention on the screen that thrusted out between her legs. Green text on a black background, the words typed out quickly, another screen in her peripheral indicating nothing was nearby nor coming at her with a constant ping, like sonar in a submarine.

"PERMISSION TO ENTER NULL SPACE: APPROVED." It read out, her cabin dark as the neon green acted as her only light source. She swallowed, looking around for a moment, trying to keep herself calm. 

She's never gone through the Null alone, the way it makes it feel like you come apart, like you separate and come back together in an instant, but the memory holds tight. 

It buries itself in you, reminding you that you shouldn't be alive, that humans shouldn't be able to experience that.  
It's beyond comprehension, there's no adaptation or mutation to understand it and digest it once you've done it. Like being assaulted or traumatized, the easiest mode of transportation unlocked in space travel makes you naked to the universe, cracked and broken open and displayed, never the same again.

Everything goes white, goes black, color doesn't even exist when it happens. 

It's never existed there, nothing ever does. It's only an experience, there's no gravity to what you've done, what you felt. 

It's impossible to talk about, not when you're human and everything is supposed to have a reason.  
You.. You just feel your tongue in your throat, feel the blood in your body flow, see and smell and hear and taste and touch and know. You're reminded that you are you, and that's impossible.

You feel your body come apart. Everything that you have ever thought doesn't matter anymore, you forget to breathe, and then you realize you don't have to, because you never did, and yet you always have. 

Charlotte could explain it, though. She could talk for hours how the first thing that she saw was color, how it went by so slowly, like an old movie fighting an artist who decorated each blow with his paint.

She felt detached from her body, floating and watching from somewhere else, then that physical thing came apart, piece by piece. Her body threw itself backwards, her spine snapping and eyes going wide as those same parts were separated like a thread you pull from your shirt, only to have that piece of clothing unfurl and there's a hole in your sleeve now, hidden in your armpit. It was segmented, thin like a crepe, beautiful as agate.  
It folded together, the atoms almost touching, packed and pulled and rebounding back on itself. 

Like a Taffy Puller her body stretched with the rest of the ship, the colors in and beyond the spectrum siezed and couldn't decide if it wanted to be red or blue, if it wanted to be that particular shade of yellow, Dandelion or Charteruse, or if it liked green better, Fir or Seafoam.  
It all melted together in a pool of wax and was struck by a hammer, rippling and striking white sand in a tide. 

It was smeared on the face of a dog in the color festival of India, worn on a day that paralleled the grey sky, or just admired from afar after an awful thunderstorm in Virginia, then a child's happy, shrill cry as two rainbows appeared, never too far from one another. 

It was the companion in the voyage of Null, for Charlotte and her consciousness only. 

There was no pain.

You realize you aren't yourself, you aren't real. And then, all as if that never happened, you are you, and you've arrived at your destination.

She took a deep breath again, letting go of the joysticks on either side of her, the controls keeping her arms stretched tight apart. Those same arms relaxed, crossed, then like she couldn't decide what to do with them, then fell lax in her lap. 

She already chose what she was going to do, and finally she was going to go home.

The screen typed out a new prompt, the clicks audible in the silence of her cabin, Charlotte realizing she wasn't even breathing when the option came up, when any sound was deafening to her headspace right now.

White gloved fingers rose carefully, yanking the keyboard from it's hidden slot in the computer screen. Carefully, she followed what she could remember to type, what she's seen Aashiq and Herdesher do once before.

"ACCEPT" and "DENY" flashed every few seconds, shining out "CONTINUE?" as it was clear she could still turn around, still go back to the Aleph Null and live her life out in this foreign place, pretend everything was normal and that she belonged with two pilots and countless aliens trapped in cubes like Pokemon. 

She could listen to ghosts whisper at night, lulling her to sleep with the heavy thud of machinery keeping the old ship running.

She could laugh, sing, dance, love and exist all on that ship.

It was a part of her, it could very well be a home, but it could never be home to her. 

Her goal has always been to get back to her world, and like she mentioned before, she's made her choice.

Charlotte was going home, and this was how she's going to do it.

Her fingers shook again as she typed out the command, and with one last look to the black expanse of space, followed her string of coordinates she's brought with her with a harsh press of enter.

The prompt came up once again, enforcing the need for her to accept, to seal the command and send her into oblivion. 

WB: PERMISSION TO ENTER NULL SPACE: APPROVED 

CONTINUE?

ACCEPT / DENY

PILOT: ACCEPT


	3. Nefertiti

“Aashiq.”

“Yes?”

“Come and sit with me.”

She didn’t say please, her words were commanding through her breaking voice. Though she spoke softly, the demand weaved itself through like fire through wood. 

Aashiq swallowed hard.

Nefertiti’s gaze held firm, steady though her eyes were clouded, locked onto the shorter man as she rocked in her chair as if, for a moment, she could paint him perfectly blind. 

Aashiq sat down, steadying his fast beating heart, grabbing his knees with his hands and letting out a slow, hard breath. She terrified him, just from how much she knew, her eyes digging their way into his heart with half of a glance. A hard gaze made him want to hide under his bed.

“Sweet boy,” She starts, putting her hand on his, her wedding ring twinkling in the light as her spider fingers cooled his warm, tight clutching fingers.  
“Look at me, now.”

“You can’t see, how do you know i’m not?” He couldn’t believe he kept his voice so neutral, but his lack of emotion gave him away, as far as Nefertiti was concerned.  
He didn’t look at her, though, just kept his eyes locked onto the floor, sketching out the tiles design below foot. 

She couldn’t be, not one of hers. 

She has no wish.

Shes not like me. 

Shes not golden.

“Aashiq.” Nefertiti was patient, her voice firm, her hands gripping his without him realizing. She squeezed gently, her eyes searching his face with earnest.  
He looked up to a smile outlined by years of laughing and smiling, cradled in the bags under her eyes and etched deep in her crows feet and laugh lines. 

“You have such a beautiful mind. It goes so fast, you get so scared so easily.”

He wanted to cry.  
“But, there’s so much love. You want to love, but you stop yourself. No..”

Nefertiti’s eyes closed and she sighed through her wide nose. “You’re letting someone stop you, and she still has her grip on you.”

There was silence again, like Nefertiti was focused on something, reading a book so intensely she forgot she was in the middle of a conversation, however one sided it may be. 

Aashiq wanted to get up, to shake all of his thoughts off and, maybe, get a drink. Calm his nerves. 

“Don’t you think of clouding this mind of yours with that fairies brew.”

He locked eyes with her suddenly, pupils blown wide and irises glimmering gold with shock. She terrifies him. How does she know this? How does she know what he’s thinking? Stop it, stop knowing everything.

Yet, Nefertiti continued, her grip firm on his hands. 

“She wants you, she doesn’t want to love you, and you don’t want her. You think she controls you, that she’s going to hurt the ones you want to love.”  
Nefertiti looked up, her gaze pointed towards where Herdesher and the rest of the crew sat, Chatt talking intently with Vivica, Herdeshers brilliant little sister, comparing her notes with the text books Chatt gifted her on this visit. Perenelle smiled around her cup of tea, and Helios was explaining the minor social faux pas Charlie committed by sitting her mug onto the table, no towel or napkin or coaster to clean up the condensation. 

“She can only hurt you if you believe she can. Do you?”

Aashiq swallowed, wanting more than anything to get away, to go and sit with his crew and laugh over what they were laughing at, swallow down hot tea and go to bed late for an early morning. His heart was in his throat, croaking out a meager “Yes.”, his voice rough.

“Talk to him. Tell him how you feel.” She pushed, keeping her eyes drifting to the table every now and again.

“He already knows about Jolene, i told him everything-”

“Not what she does to you. Not how much she scares you.” Nefertiti frowned, turning slowly in her chair to face him better.

Or, was time slowing for him? Was his brain fighting against him, trying to get him to remember these moments? To finally free himself of all this?  
Fight or Flight, and Aashiq chose to Freeze. 

Fuck, i need a drink.

I want to forget. I don't need anyone to help me. I can figure this out.

I'm going to throw up.

Nefertiti didn’t bother to comment on his thoughts, knowing he needs to finally process this and digest it. His crew began to crack his dam, and now he needed to face the emotional flood that was coming. 

“Listen to me now, boy.” She didn’t stop, didn’t try to calm him down, even if the look on his face and how pale he’s gotten tugged at her heartstrings. 

“There's so much more to live for than being drunk, you foolish child. You can smile, and laugh, and indulge in everything that makes you feel better. You have two legs God hasn’t taken from you yet, and a million people who want to see you walk with them. Don’t disappoint the ones who had theirs taken too soon.” She had his heart in her hands, whispering straight through his skin into the seat of his soul.

I know that you tell me this every fucking time i visit. 

“Now don’t you use that language at me.” Her voice was so quiet now, barely audible, yet it rang loud and clear in and beyond his ears.

“Talk to him, sweet boy, tell him how you feel. Every time you feel it, search him out and tell him and get it out of your head. Give it form and crush it with talk. You can’t face this alone, looking in all the wrong places with your eyes closed.”

Aashiqs gaze flicked down before snapping right back up, Herdeshers heavy foot fall stepping towards him, his smile gone when he saw his captains face.  
His brow furrowed and he walked closer, quicker, striding the other side of the room with ease now that his legs were out of his sister/mechanics hands. 

“Everything okay?” Herdesher asked, looking towards his grandmother with the same level of confusion. Did she say something? Did he to upset the other? 

Aashiq couldn’t answer, he couldn’t think, frozen on Nefertiti's final question unspoken yet searing into his brain. 

“How long are you going to look up at our beautiful sky, yet refuse to let yourself see the stars?”

He stood sharply, gaze locked on the ground, and left the room.


	4. Fall

I can remember meeting him, not what he was before she came into his life, not him trapped by her in what he explained as the ultimate insult to his religion, her utter lack of care for his feelings and beliefs, or perhaps ignorance, believing that there was no other way anyone could believe in God, interpret his teachings and digest his knowledge given to humanity. It was this, he said, with a small, clever smile on his face, and a glimmer in his tired eyes, that gave him the power to escape.

I didn’t correct him, didn’t explain he was only a small part of her destruction. He was happy now, the connection we have from our shared nightmare even warming my heart, making me happy to walk with him through his forest and listen to his kind, bass voice. 

The trees around us rose to the skies and only allowed the sun's strength to shine through in tiny beams, passing through gates of leaves and branches until barely tickling the ground, her power stifled by beasts of old feasting on her light. It didn’t turn to night by her command, didn’t pull the moon across the sky and shove her boisterous sister down under, swifting twilight and the stars to take up the living room above us at her own discretion, even older gods taking a seat and settling in until she demanded another visit from the lifegiver of this little blue marble. 

She’s a terrible host, he said. We both laughed, but the melancholy was laced thick through it.

This wasn’t going to last forever, i knew that, our walk was going to end somehow, because now she was gone, and now he was really dying, she’s no longer holding his body, his mind, and heart together with her alternative machines and grip on the bat that smashed his clock. 

I think i was dying too, in a way. I didn’t have a way home now, she’s gone. She’s joining the march led by time herself, pointing forward and becogning everyone to keep going, that there's no stopping, there’s no pain and no exhaustion. There's only going forward now.

I could feel the soft grass and cool soil beneath my feet, wriggling my toes in the dirt and taking a glance down, the roots of dryads curling into the earth and basking in the light they’ve gorged on for hundreds of millions of years. Plants sprouted up behind us and where we stepped, white tipped flowers blossoming out and sipping on dew drops, soft and fragrant shoots dancing in the breeze as they climbed up and up, looking for their share of sunlight the trees hog with intense apathy.

He stopped after awhile, seating himself against a much older tree, the branches above us spanning out to where no other tree dares to grow, their unlucky sisters taking a chance and creeping up to the blue celestials, but their fate is obvious. 

The shade was nice, at least. 

I sat down next to him, and there we talked, he played the guitar he carried strapped to his chest, sang in that deep voice, and for a while after we were quiet. There wasn’t much room for real conversation besides just shooting the shit. He was from another time, maybe even another place, like Aashiq, or maybe not and we could all be from the same place, just different times, or vice versa. 

Honestly, I don’t care. 

There was a person here, one I wanted to know, wanted maybe even to love and appreciate, just like I do the Aleph Null and her crew. They’re my family, I would do anything to spend just a little more time with them. 

I would sit with Perenelle, admire her skin and the vitiligo on her arms and legs and neck like an abstract artists creating a modern day Pandora. I would tell her she’s beautiful, just to see her blush and laugh, and ask her for more stories about Sekhmet and their adventures before everything happened on Venus while she does my nails or i braid her long, fiery red hair. 

I could seek out Helios, his quiet smile and excitement when I ask he explain something to me, whether it was how he made his desserts so delicious or even what social faux pas I can avoid when we next visit Mars, or maybe even sit down with him and ask if he can read to me, his teaching soul stopping for every question, and letting me have whatever conclusion i’d like, all while comparing it with his opinion and clash our brains together for hours while he does his work.

 

Then, I would find Herdesher and Aashiq together, the two when alone sharing a quick kiss i pretend to not notice, constantly touching each other in some way, their rings swapped from their days in training together and Herdeshers hand taking just a moment too long on top of Aashiqs, rubbing his thumb along the top of his wide hand until the shorter man blushed and coughed, nodding in my direction while I smile and ask when the next time we see Herdeshers family is. Tell him I had fun with Vivica and Amon, Cherry and Mr. Pepper and their twins Aziza and Isis, the kind colonists and even the strange tourists who only cared for Bowie Base One. Herdesher was always happy to talk about his family, and the days he only wore loose pants or even at least respectably long boxers for the aches in his prosthetics and sensitive skin rubbed down with salve, he would mention Amon still needing to finish his tattoos, all the small charms inked into his dark skin until the gold scarab could be safely guarding over his heart, never standing witness against him.   
I would mention my desire for a tattoo, too, maybe even the ships insignia, and that would perk up Aashiq, his eyes surprised until he mentioned she was too young for a tattoo.   
Banter, laughs, and friendly jabs until the rest of the crew joined us and Helios deciding to make something nice for dinner, whether it was malva pudding or koeksisters with a cup of hot rooibos tea. 

Chatt would come out of hiding then, their naps encompassing too many hours of our circadian days, yawning and stretching like the cat i’m pretty sure they lived as in a past life. They’d blame their six hour nap on the work they’ve done all night, and Aashiq would quip back that they haven’t had an injury on the ship in at least a week. Perenelle would mention that they all have awful sleep schedules, plus who doesn’t mind more beauty sleep?

We’d all sit down, around our wooden tables and wicker chairs, passing around plates after Chatt says their prayers to old gods I never got to know more about, Aashiq would pick at his plate and Helios would chastise him, to clean his plate and everything tastes better when you eat it, you know, together.   
Helios would turn to Chatt’s voice asking who was the doctor on board, and Herdesher would remind me to eat, that they have plenty of work to do tomorrow, too. 

I want to know him like I know these people, sit around a table with him and the rest of my family, laugh and talk and choke on my food while ‘Desh beats on my back until i wave my arm for him to stop. I want to hear him laugh and smile and eat weird space food Helios somehow puts together into something at least flavorful, if not awfully lacking texture. I want him to be confused at Venusian customs Perenelle can’t help but follow, keeping her elbows off the table and hair pulled back in a specific bun braid combination yet falling over her ears before she eats, switching utensils often and wiping everything down with her towel before folding it into a triangle and laying her used tools on it as she eats slowly, in such small bites I was always surprised her jaw didn’t hurt from chewing so much. 

Chatt always finished last, despite Perenelles customs, spending too much time talking and entertaining and doing small check ups on everything, especially Aashiq with his busted hip and Herdesher with his prosthetic aches. They’d never be embarrassing at the table, pulling someone aside after and asking how their mental state is, if they want to join them for some aromatherapy before bed, mostly just incense and perfumed blankets while soft music played and he recited gentle chants into the air, settling into an entrancing headspace and making sleep that night sweeter. 

Helios spent the few hours before bed with Aashiq, relaying what he’s found and either archived or sent to the captains panel for viewing in the morning. They’d sit together after even Herdeshers gone to bed, kissing Aashiq atop the head and patting Helios’s shoulder kindly, seeing himself out with his too heavy footfall.   
They’d throw back a few drinks if its been a long day, whether it was rough badly made like-drinking-rubbing-alcohol whiskey bought under the radar or Absinthe sipped after being sweetened and diluted with ice cold water in their fancy tap.   
Maybe he’d join them, lull them to a softer sleep with his deep voice or maybe Aashiq and him could play together while Helios hums along or asks if they can teach him. 

He could be happy on Aleph Null, I knew it. Everyone was, whether it was Henry or Mr.Mistoffelees, their two dimensional bodies hugging the walls and standing out darker in the shadows along the walls. They never talked, but if i’m wrong i’d like to still think they’re having fun on the ship, at the very least being acknowledged and feeling their alien emotions i’d hope are positive. Even Marshal- Ganymede? I don’t know if I like knowing him by that name- had his fun. He stayed with the queer, the odd, more often than with Aashiq and Helios and Herdesher. 

Chatt was his best company, with their long talks or even long silences, just enjoying each others company and never bothering to dig too deep into each other. They were both so much older, so much wiser and deep rooted in a world I will never know. He’d sit and watch Chatt organize their infirmary, flick water at them just to watch them whip around and look up to the air conditioning unit to see where the leak is, then snicker and eventually get into an all out water brawl until Marshal is forced to wander around until he finds Perenelle and has her point him to the towels. 

Maybe Marshal wouldn’t be the best company around him, or he turns out to have another facet I don’t know about and he’d get along like a house on fire. Honestly, that’s more likely anyways. 

He was singing again, strumming his guitar as even the ground appreciated his song. His voice vibrated so deep i could feel it in my chest, anchoring me even as I felt the world start to exist around me.   
This wasn’t my place, wasn’t my grave. I was meant to go to my own little world, maybe, or i would fade away until nothing was left. 

It was terrifying. I tried to form this into words, turn to him and say this, beg him for help. Maybe he knew what to do, maybe he felt it too. 

But, he just looked at me with his tired, green eyes, matching the fauna around us. I was sad, i think, but he just set his instrument down and pulled me towards him, hugging me tight and thanking me for sitting with him. I told him, simply enough, “Sure, anytime.” as if this was going to happen again. Like this wasn’t the death of the only facet of him i knew, the story i could tell about him. 

“Oren.” I breathed out, feeling his arms go through me as i faded from his world, spat out by this bubble that drifted off into the universe. His little green orb floated away yet his songs echoed through the black, heavy voice and strummed strings comforting me in a way that burned through the cold nothing letting me fall. 

And so, i fell. I fell, so fast, thrown into the darkness though i knew this time there wasn’t going to be an end, a stop. I was never going to hit the ground when none existed around me, nor was there a wind pushing me towards it, a tide pulling me to it, even a shove from someone i won’t comprehend pitying me. 

I fell when there was nothing to hit. No ending, so in a way i was traveling, the destination unknown until it meanders to my location and is struck by my essence, or whatever it is Elvira left me to exist in.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you thought in the comments below! Thank you for reading!


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